


Don’t Call Me Baby

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Ancient Technology, Community: satedan_grabass, Fanfiction, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s an idiot. Ronon’s got a stupid plan. They deserve each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t Call Me Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millygal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/gifts).



> Written for the 'John/Ronon Thing-a-thon' 2015, as a gift for milly_gal who I want to thank for the gender!swap prompt as I had a great time writing this. For John and Ronon it seems there’s very little fic out there for this classic trope, so I figured I’d weigh in with my six cents. Also? Really just an excuse to write John/Ronon porn. Set around mid-season 3, I guess, not that it matters. My thanks to that_which for beta-reading.

 ooo–ooo–ooo  
  


Ronon eased into the darkened lab, soft-footed, checking for intruders. There weren’t any. The moons hadn’t risen yet but the night was full of brilliant stars, glittering through the tall windows of the lab like sunlight off water. McKay had spouted some science explanation for it, but Ronon hadn’t really been listening. He moved silently forward, the blaze of stars casting black shadows behind him.

The thing was still there, locked in the cabinet where McKay had stored it with one of his scrawled notes taped to the door: ‘ _MORON ALERT! DO NOT TOUCH IF YOU VALUE YOUR PHYSICAL INTEGRITY! YES THIS MEANS YOU!’_

Ronon could see it through the glass door, about three hands long and as thick as his forearm with a flat base and a domed top. McKay’d made some crack, calling it a ‘giant Ancient dildo’ as he stashed it away, which earned him a head slap from Sheppard, and one of Teyla’s Looks.

It was glowing softly, faint blue-green leaking out of deep spirals engraved in the casing. Sheppard hadn’t been able to turn it off with his mind and McKay wouldn’t touch it. No one had wanted to take the risk after Sheppard accidentally initialized it off world, and the interface showed him what it did.

Animal husbandry – maybe for farming, although McKay thought it was part of some Ancestor scientist’s research. It changed the sex of animals for breeding programs. Handy if you needed extra females or lacked a stud for your herd, but unlike most Ancestor tech they’d chanced on, the only warm-blooded life-forms it _didn’t_ work on were Ancestors. Luckily. Sheppard was close enough to the Ancestor bloodline that it hadn’t changed him. He’d paled and dropped it, even so, then kept them all at bay and made Ronon empty supplies out of a hard-sided box from the back of the jumper, rolling the thing cautiously in with Teyla’s bantos sticks and clicking the lid firmly closed.

“Christ,” McKay said in disgust after Sheppard told them its purpose. “Those fucking Ancient _bastards_. Really? It’s meant to–”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said, scowling down at the container at his feet. “It’ll switch the sex of any animal it touches, including Pegasus humans. Or Earth humans – anyone without a strong ATA-gene. Treats ’em all the same. As animals.”

“Dickheads,” Ronon said, but he’d long since lost any illusions he’d had as a kid about the Ancestors. Most of those fuckers were way too clever for their own good, and cold with it. Maybe it had happened on the way to losing their bodies – they got less human, got stuck in their heads and turned off their feelings. He’d thought McKay was like that at first, but he’d been wrong. McKay had a heart.

Ronon kept looking at Sheppard, who’d touched the thing, but he seemed just the same. He thought about what Sheppard might have looked like as a woman. Pretty hot, Ronon reckoned, but then he always thought Sheppard was hot so it was hard to imagine anything else. McKay’d be hilarious as a chick – Ronon grinned into his beard. Teyla’d be hot, too, but he didn’t think Kanaan’d be too thrilled if she was a guy. Kanaan was traditional.

Ronon wasn’t traditional – sure, he’d married Melena but before her he’d gone with guys. Sateda’d been a modern society, not like the Athosians. You could be modern and free-thinking if you had a big population, but the Athosians were close to extinction so of course they had to breed; stood to reason. Weird that the Earth-folks were so traditional, with their huge population. Maybe they weren’t, back on Earth – Sheppard’d said the no guys-with-guys and girls-with-girls rule was a military thing, and McKay’d said it was only a military thing for Sheppard’s idiotic stars-and-bars clan and his red-leaf clan were far more sensible. McKay said a lot of things.

Ronon was pretty sure Sheppard was traditional, what with the woman he’d had in that place where time sped up and that princess in the crumbly old Ancestor tower. McKay yammered on about Sheppard and some Ancestor woman Chaya as well, back before Sheppard found Ronon, when he was still running. Ronon had tried to let Sheppard know he wasn’t traditional and didn’t care about Sheppard’s clan rules, but month after month had slid by and Sheppard still hadn’t made a move.

As Sheppard flew them back through the Ring Ronon couldn’t help turning a few times to stare at the container, safely stowed under one of the jumper’s bench seats. He couldn’t help thinking.

Now, in deep shadow beyond the last row of windows, in the furthest corner of the lab, he eased a narrow-bladed knife out of his gauntlet and pried open the cabinet’s lock, pushing the door ajar. The thing sat there, glowing. Ronon slid the knife back into its sheath and sucked in a deep breath. Then he stretched out his hand.

ooo–ooo–ooo

John waved one hand over the door chime, then did some hamstring stretches against the wall outside Ronon’s room. He straightened, frowning – Ronon was usually up and at it this time of the morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed even without coffee. John rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, then put his hand back over the sensor and kept it there, making the chime play on. He grinned. He’d mentally taught the door alarm to play _Achy Breaky Heart_ last time they’d had movie night at Ronon’s and he reckoned Ronon’d be pretty over it by now. The whole tech-telepathy thing was way cool when it came to pranks.

Ronon’s door suddenly whooshed open and a toned arm flashed out and grabbed the front of John’s sweatshirt, dragging him inside. The door hissed shut and John just barely righted himself, stumbling against the bed. Ronon had backed off. He was turned away and it was hard to see in the dim light, but he seemed hunched over or something. No, that wasn’t right, he seemed…shorter? “Ah…buddy?” John tried tentatively, thinking the lights brighter.

“Don’t,” Ronon muttered, still turned away. He seemed to hunch down, pulling in on himself. His voice was wrong, too, not that rich bass any more, but lighter, higher, more contralto.

Christ, what had happened? Was he sick? Was he in pain? John took Ronon’s shoulder and turned him, gently, not sure if there was an injury or if Ronon had some kind of ’flu. Under his hand, Ronon’s muscles tensed through the old tee he wore for running, which was kind of hanging off him now and Jesus, he couldn’t have lost _that_ much weight overnight even if he’d been barfing in the head for hours. They hadn’t drunk overmuch beer last night and John couldn’t think of any bugs going around. His mouth went dry because _something_ was badly wrong, and this was _Ronon_. Ronon _couldn’t_ get sick. John couldn’t bear it if he...

Under his hand, Ronon sagged, giving in, and let himself be turned. “Holy crap!” John said. “What? What the?” He gaped, waving one hand.

“I look stupid,” Ronon muttered sullenly, still in that too-high voice. Too high for Ronon as John’d known him, but it fitted the woman slouched uncomfortably before him, arms folded defensively over her breasts.

 _She’s got Ronon’s hair_ , John thought, brain still playing catch-up and coming in last. _She’s got Ronon’s hair because she’s…_ “Fuck, Ronon, not the thing? You touched the sex-change thing? But…but we locked it up. It shoulda been safe.”

Ronon rolled his eyes. Her eyes. Shit. “Not back then. Not on the planet or in the jumper.”

The face John was staring at was still Ronon’s, but finer-boned, dark brows like delicate wings even pulled together in a frown as they were. Ronon had been ridiculously handsome; the woman John was still clutching by the shoulder was beautiful. He realised his fingers had clenched down involuntarily, and let go. Ronon grimaced and stared down at his feet - her feet, damn it - scuffing a long-toed brown foot on the floor.

 _Huh_ , thought John. _Shoes probably don’t fit either._ Ronon was in track pants and the tee, all of it loose on him now, the pants barely hanging off his hipbones. His crossed arms had made the tee ride up a little and John caught a glimpse of belly button and smooth brown hairless skin. John swallowed and choked off that line of thought in a hurry. He realised, way too late, that Ronon’s face was smooth as well; the beard was gone. It made him look younger, more vulnerable, and John realised he’d been standing there perving, while Ronon had some kind of silent freak-out. Talk about a dick move.

“Shit, buddy, you kinda blind-sided me there, sorry,” John said. He tugged at Ronon’s arm, pulling him down to sit on the bed and collapsing beside him. Ronon still sat like a guy, knees spread wide, elbows propped on them, dreads hanging down. John scrubbed a hand across his face. “You okay? I mean, y’know, apart from…” he waved an inarticulate hand.

Ronon turned his shaggy head and peered at him through the hanging locks and beads. His now female face had that same narrow-eyed expression he got when John was being a dick, like when he and McKay traded too many geeky Earth references.

“Right, right, dumb question,” John said hurriedly, making his wide-eyed ‘what the fuck do I know’ face. “But seriously, buddy, what the fucking fuck?”

Ronon sighed and rolled his shoulders. Her shoulders. This pronoun shit was doing John’s head in. “Went to that lab last night. Came to on the floor after – guess I passed out for a while. Went back to bed – was pretty tired. Muscles ached, too. And walking’s weird – keep almost falling on my face.” He uncrossed his arms and glowered down at his chest. “These things. They unbalance me.” John figured that if Ronon was asking him to think about his rack he had licence to stare. Christ, Ronon had nice tits – good-sized, high and firm even without any kind of bra. John could just see the nubs of nipples through the thin old tee as Ronon arched his back and peered down. Ronon turned his head slightly and caught him gawping, slack-jawed.

John felt like a creep. He swallowed and flushed, looking down and biting his lip. “Uh, yeah, buddy. Guess it must be…pretty damn strange.” He got the feeling Ronon might be smirking at him, but didn’t dare check. Then John straightened angrily, turning to stare accusingly. Ronon raised a pointed eyebrow, face a smooth, beautiful mask. John stabbed a finger at him. “You said you went there. To the lab. Why in hell would you…?”

Ronon looked resigned, grimacing like he did when he’d broken some rule John knew he didn’t give a shit about. “It was dumb, okay?” He sighed. “I thought…well. It was a dumb move.” He looked away again. “Guess McKay’ll fix it. Or Carson. Thing’ll probably just turn me back if I touch it again.”

“Hey, whoa, we don’t know that for sure,” John protested. “You know this Ancient crap’s never that simple. What if it’s a one-way trip? What if it disintegrates you?”

“Yeah, thanks a bunch, Sheppard,” Ronon muttered, staring at his hands. Slender, tan hands with tapering fingers, blunt nails trimmed neatly. Not a guy’s hands. “That’s helping.”

John stood abruptly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jeez, what am I…. We gotta get you to Beckett. I gotta call McKay.”

Ronon looked resigned, and still a little pissy. “Guess so.” Looking down, he pulled at the threadbare tee, the too-large pants. Don’t really wanna…”

“No, right. Look, here, get up.” John grabbed his arm and pulled, wincing a little at the feel of the warm, smooth skin of Ronon’s arm, softer now, or maybe that was all in John’s overheated brain. He let go and Ronon swayed a little then cast a reproachful glance down at his breasts, which John was _not_ staring at as they bobbed tantalizingly under the thin old shirt. Christ, this was agony. He forced his eyes up to Ronon’s face and definitely caught the edge of a smirk, fast-fading. “See?” John said. “We’re the same height, now.” Ronon still had an inch on him, maybe, but it was pretty close. “Wait here – I’ll get you some of my stuff. Might fit better.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ronon said. As John headed out, door whooshing open, he added. “Make sure it’ll fit across these…” lifting his tits one in each hand as though offering them to John.

John made a desperate noise, and fled.

ooo–-ooo–ooo

Ronon lay on the infirmary bed trying not to freak out. Carson had shaken his head in disbelief, muttering about “yet another daftie who can’t keep his hands off the Ancient gizmos”. Ronon wasn’t sure what a gizmo was. He figured it was like a dildo. Carson had then kicked Sheppard out, stolen far too much blood and put Ronon through several scanners and an unpleasant physical. He’d bustled off now to analyze the blood, ordering Ronon to stay put.

Ronon was trying not to think about the changes. Trying not to think what was down there between his legs. It felt complicated. He knew what was there – he’d been married, after all – but it was another thing entirely to have it going on. Mostly, he was trying not to panic about what _wasn’t_ down there. Ronon dug his nails into his palms and let the pain ground him, gritting his teeth.

This was the stupidest plan ever. He’d done some dumb things in his life – trusting Kell, for one – but this was…it was…Fuck. Even if it worked on Sheppard – and Ronon thought it probably _was_ working – no way was this worth it if they couldn’t change him back. He sucked in a breath, his heart pounding. McKay would fix it. He _would_.

Ronon bit his lip. Would he still want to change back if Sheppard really liked him this way? What if Sheppard let Ronon kiss him and touch him and get him hot and bothered? What if Sheppard let Ronon push him up against the wall or bend him over and... Damn. It was gonna be Sheppard bending _Ronon_ over and holding him down, making Ronon shake and moan. Ronon clenched his jaw. Even weirder things were happening down there between his legs now, and his chest felt tingly.

Lifting his head, Ronon glowered down at his tits. The scrub top was a little tight over them, and they felt strange, kind of squishy and sensitive where the nipples – which were standing out now – rubbed against the fabric. He was used to everything being hard muscle, toned and firm. Soft meant weak. Soft meant dead. He poked one of them in the side, watching as it jiggled like that blue stuff McKay liked. Gross.

“Yeah, that’s gonna chafe if we don’t get you a bra,” said a voice from the end of the bed, and Ronon looked up, frowning. “Hi,” the nurse said, smiling. She was the one with dark skin who wore her hair in a mess of tiny braids. It was too loose to hide a knife in properly, but still, a pretty cool hairstyle. Ronon didn’t know her name. “That’s one helluva rack you got there, sister. It ain’t gonna hold itself up, you know.”

“A bra?” Ronon asked, cocking an eyebrow. He knew what bras were, from movie nights and porn with the marines, but he’d never undressed any of the Earth women. They didn’t wear bras on Sateda, just chest-binders. What he’d seen of Earth bras in the movies looked kind of kinky, like armor made of cloth, but cute, with tiny buckles and hooks. Ronon wasn’t sure he’d be able to figure out how to wear it. “I’m not your sister,” he added.

“All girls together now, honey,” she said, fussing with the bedcovers and picking up his wrist to check the blood-beat there. Ronon could feel it was too fast; this body seemed more highly strung than his own. He shut his eyes and swallowed, missing his usual body fiercely for a second. “Hmmm,” the nurse said, holding his hand and patting it, which was oddly comforting. “Guess you got a right to be losin’ it a little. Carson shouldn’t’ve left you here to stew all by your lonesome.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

“He’s checking my blood,” Ronon said, and she nodded.

“That’s what he does,” she agreed. “Never happier than when he’s lookin’ down an eyepiece. I’m Marcie, by the way.” She eyed him. “We gonna go on callin’ you Ronon?”

“It’s my name,” Ronon said blankly.

She smiled reassuringly. “Sure it is. Well, I think we better–”

“Hey, Ronon.” It was Sheppard, sticking his head around the bed-curtain. “Carson finished with you?” His eyes flicked over Ronon’s form in the scrubs as though he couldn’t help himself, and he licked his lips, then seemed to force his gaze back up to meet Ronon’s, cheeks slightly pink.

Marcie strode up to Sheppard and put her hands on her hips. “No he is not, Colonel, and you don’t get to barge in on patients who haven’t been cleared for visitors yet.”

“He’s on my team,” Sheppard protested. Ronon watched, amused and temporarily distracted from his freak-out, as Marcie pushed her chest out threateningly and took another step forward. Her breasts were impressive, standing out like big pointy mountains. Must need some serious straps and buckles to hold those babies up. Sheppard took a step back, raising his hands, eyes comically wide. “Jeez, Marcie, I was just…”

“This is a difficult time for Ronon right now, Colonel, and we don’t need you barging in.”

“Aw, I wasn’t barg–” Sheppard stopped and tapped his earpiece. “What? Now? Yeah, okay, I’ll just–”

“You’ll just shoo, is what you’ll do, and come back at visiting time,” Marcie said firmly.

Sheppard peered over Marcie’s shoulder and waved a hand at his radio. “Sorry, buddy. Elizabeth called a meeting, I gotta–”

Marcie shunted him out. He heard her talking to Marie the charge nurse in an undertone, then Carson popped in again and said Ronon was fine, perfectly healthy. For a woman. Ronon gave him the smile with teeth and it still worked. Carson backed out and scuttled off.

Then Marcie was back with Marie and a stack of clothing. “We put some stuff together from a few of the bigger-boned gals,” Marcie said with a grin. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

That turned out to be the worst kind of bullshit, because bras were instruments of torture. They tried one with the buckles and stuff and it jabbed Ronon in bad places and made him feel like he had something sitting on his chest. In the end, Marie came up with what they called a “sports bra” which was all stretchy cloth and more like the chest-binders he was used to with Melena, even if the shape was different. It still made him feel like he was wrapped in bandages under his clothes, but it didn’t cut into him.

Another nurse, the big blond one called Helga who spoke funny, loaned him a red-brown long-sleeved top made of a fleece the Earth people called wool. It was like the loose-knitted top he’d worn as a runner, but much finer and more tightly woven. It was soft and felt good, but it clung to Ronon in a disconcerting way, and in the bra, his breasts seemed to be sticking out more. He was worried he’d fall over – his centre of gravity was way off. The jeans Sheppard had given him had been bulky and tight across his hips, but Marcie found some black pants that were stretchy as well, and they were fine. They also gave him small-pants like he’d seen in the movies, the same skin-color as the bra. He pulled the curtains around to change, but Marcie insisted on helping him adjust the bra, making his ears flush, showing him how to lean forward and get his breasts seated right, how to hook and unhook it without looking. His fingers felt wrong, too small, and he was clumsy.

“You’ll learn,” she said, patting his shoulder. The nurses all seemed to be touching him more than before, other times he’d been in here recovering. They teased him and fussed, finding him a pair of black leather boots that fitted and pushing his hair back from his face, tsking that it was beyond their help. Ronon was glad – he needed _something_ that was still him.

“You think a little?” Marcie asked Helga, holding Ronon’s jaw gently and tilting it this way and that.

“Ronon does not need much,” Helga said. “Look at those eyelashes, and that flawless skin.” Both women nodded. Helga pursed her lips, decisive. “Just the gloss.”

That turned out to be a slippery red stick that tasted of fruit. They smeared it on his lips and made him press them together. He ran his tongue over it experimentally. Strawberries, an Earth fruit. 

“Nuh uh, don’t you lick it all off again,” admonished Marcie. She took an infirmary sack and put a few things into it – some kind of skin cream in a tube and the gloss. She held up a pressed paper box one hand long. “You heard about periods?” she asked. Ronon frowned, puzzled. “Time of the month? When a woman blee–“ Ronon flushed and looked away.

“Cleansings,” he muttered. “Yeah. I was married, before.”

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” said Marcie. “I didn’t know.” Ronon shrugged. Marcie took out one of the stiff paper cylinders and showed him how it worked. He’d have been impressed if he hadn’t suddenly understood why she was telling him.

“You mean I’m gonna…” He stared at her, horrified.

“Less’n Dr. McKay figures out how to change you back real quick, yeah, most like,” Marcie said, her voice kind. She squeezed his shoulder.

“And you might need these as well,” Marie said briskly, dropping in a package of the small stretchy sheaths Earth folks used to stop children. “Better safe than sorry.”

Ronon was mortified. “I’m not gonna…” he muttered.

“Oh my dear, have you not seen how you look?” Helga asked.

“Colonel _Sheppard_ sure has,” Marcie muttered. Marie glared her into silence.

Ronon _hadn’t_ seen himself, of course. There’d been no mirrors when he was running, and they still kind of freaked him out. He didn’t have one in his room. They led him next door to the physical therapy gym which had floor length mirrors. Ronon stared at the stranger reflected there. She had his hair, but her face was a woman’s, all curves and cheekbones, eyes larger and darker-lashed than before, and her mouth full and pink from the gloss. The knitted top clung to her curves, showing full, high breasts and a narrow waist, then flared out over still-slender hips, wider than they had been, long legs in sleek black pants tapering down to the boots.

“Huh,” said Ronon. “I’m hot.” He had to raise one arm out to the side to check it was really him. The woman in the mirror raised her reflected arm.

“Damn straight, you’re hot,” Marcie said. “Go get him, girl.”

“ _Marcie_ ,” Marie snapped.

Marcie grinned at him, unrepentant. “Right. Time to practice walking without going tits over ass.”

ooo–-ooo–ooo

John slouched in his chair at the conference table, deeply unsettled. Ronon was a goddam woman, and John couldn’t stop perving on him, and Christ, that was enough weirdness, surely? Apparently not. Because what unsettled John most was realising he’d _always_ perved on Ronon. He just hadn’t let himself think about it until now.

He tuned back into the meeting. He’d given his report about finding the artifact on P6G-954 and what he’d learned from its interface, then Heightmeyer had reported from medical, giving them Carson’s findings as Carson himself was in the lab analysing Ronon’s DNA. Preliminary findings were that Ronon was suffering no physical ill-effects, and was virtually genetically identical, just female.

Rodney and Radek were doing their technobabble double-act. Not they had much to say as no one was game to touch the thing and they hadn’t yet found it in the database. Rodney was even agreeing to an unholy alliance with the linguists to run search strings faster, so John knew things were seriously fucked.

“Can we work through Colonel Sheppard, as he seems able to touch it safely?” Elizabeth asked.

“What, use him like a particularly ham-fisted set of waldoes?” Rodney scoffed. “Please, either he _would_ turn himself into a woman with exceptionally unfortunate hair, or he’d manage to sex-change the whole city.”

“Hey!” John protested automatically. Not that he _wanted_ anyone ordering him to touch the damn thing.

Everyone winced and Elizabeth frowned. “It could do that?”

“No, yes, who the hell knows!” Rodney threw up his hands. “The point is we don’t know _anything_ about it yet, and letting someone like Sheppard monkey with it remotely’s just asking for trouble.”

“Doesn’t Miko Kusanagi have the ATA gene?” put in Heightmeyer, looking from Rodney to Radek.

Rodney huffed angrily. “Yes, and she’s one of the few science staff I’d trust to try and analyze it, but we have no way of telling if her gene’d be strong enough to protect her from being switched.” He leaned forward, scowling. “I’m not letting her take the risk.”

“No, absolutely, I think we’re all agreed no one should touch the object again unless we’re certain it won’t harm or change them,” Elizabeth said.

“Unless…” Radek said, looking thoughtfully at John. “Pardon, Colonel, but when you touched it the interface imparted considerable information, no?” John nodded reluctantly. Radek shrugged. “Perhaps if Colonel Sheppard were to have Miko there in close proximity—not touching it, Rodney, of course not—but nearby, the machine might tell him if it regarded her as…”

“Human?” Rodney snapped. Radek shrugged again, apologetically.

“Would that be safe?” Elizabeth asked John.

John made a face. “Yeah, I guess. It categorised me right off and now it’s initialised I’ll probably be able to read the interface from nearby without having to actually touch it. Guess it’s worth trying to see if I can get any more information at least, and if it thinks Miko’s a researcher as well…”

“Well, as long as Miko’s prepared to try, and her involvement’s entirely voluntary…” Elizabeth said. Heightmeyer nodded.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, but however that goes, it’s not a solution.” He made an emphatic gesture. “We’re going to want the thing intact and functioning so as to change Ronon back. It’s not like we can afford to disassemble a completely unknown artifact and risk not being able to rebuild it. Even if this plan works, all Sheppard and Miko will be able to do is take readings and measurements off the interface, not open the thing up and look at its innards. That’d be far too risky.” Radek pursed his lips in agreement.

“So we’re back to the database search?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes,” Rodney said. “Our best chance is to get the specs and find out if the change is safely reversible from another contact.”

“You do not think this change in Ronon is temporary?” Teyla asked, frowning.

“I think that’s unlikely,” Rodney said. “Look, the thing’s purpose, from what the Colonel picked up during his techie mind-meld, is to change an…animal’s…sex so as to breed successfully – part of a research program, we think.”

“There are culled worlds which have been left with a disproportionate balance of men and women, Dr. McKay. Do you not think this machine might have had a nobler purpose?”

Rodney looked surprised. “Well, maybe. Guess I’m not used to these things having any use other than the Ancients’ obsession with ascension. Huh.” He frowned. “Unless the Wraith made it to replenish their livestock.”

John winced. “Nice one, McKay. Nope, it’s Ancient for sure.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “In summary, then, our main thrust will be the database search by the science staff, and Colonel Sheppard will talk to Dr. Kusanagi and possibly explore the interface from nearby, to see if she could investigate it further if it’s safe for her. That’s all for now?”

Most people nodded and began getting up, but Heightmeyer raised a hand. “Ah, Dr. Weir? One last thing.” Everyone sat down again and Rodney leaned back, narrowing his eyes.

“Dr. McKay mentioned changing Ronon’s sex back with the machine, if it can be done safely. I think, however, that we first need to know why this happened. Why did he touch it in the first place?” Heightmeyer looked around the table, eyebrows raised. “And does he _want_ to be changed back?”

John’s heart sank. Fuck. He’d hoped no one would raise that.

There was a babble of questions. “Wait, wait, you’re saying Ronon’s _trans_?” Rodney said, voice rising.

“What is this ‘trans’?” Teyla asked, a crease between her brows.

“I think Dr. McKay means Ronon might be transsexual,” Elizabeth put in, shooting Rodney a warning glance. “It’s when someone feels they’ve been born into the wrong body. In Ronon’s case, if it were true, it’d mean he’d always felt like a woman inside, but had been forced to live life as a man.”

“But he _is_ a man,” Teyla said, puzzled.

Heightmeyer cut in smoothly. “Yes, physically he _was_ a man. But it seems that he touched the artifact deliberately, despite knowing what it was likely to do. That indicates that for some reason he wanted it to change him into a woman.”

Teyla looked dubious. “I cannot imagine…He has never given any indication that he wished his sex to be otherwise.”

Heightmeyer nodded. “I realise that, but my point is we just don’t know. He was seriously traumatized for many years – perhaps at some level he wanted a complete change, to leave that part of himself behind?”

“I do not think that likely,” Teyla said flatly, and John kind of loved her for it.

“Perhaps not, but until he’s assessed we have no way of knowing,” Heightmeyer said, spreading her hands.

“Whoa, assessed?” John said, sitting up. “What, a psych eval?”

“Yes, I think such an unusual act warrants that,” Heightmeyer replied calmly, folding her hands on the table.

Rodney snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that!”

Elizabeth cocked her head. “You don’t think he’d consent? I’m inclined to agree with Kate. We need to understand this better before we try to ‘fix’ it.”

Rodney jabbed a finger at her. “Two points. If he did touch it deliberately and we can make sure the thing’s safe to use, then it’s Ronon’s own decision – it’s his damn body! And secondly, come on, this is Ronon! He’s worse than Sheppard for not talking about touchy-feely stuff.” He rounded on Heightmeyer. “Have you ever had a successful session with him, even when he’s been ordered to see you?”

Heightmeyer’s mouth twisted wryly. “Well, not exactl–”

“No!” Rodney snapped. “So forget about that – he’s not going to talk to a _shrink_.” He folded his arms truculently, apparently feeling he’d defended Ronon’s right to remain the big largely-silent hulk that he was. Go Rodney. John slouched down lower in his chair and looked daggers at Weir and Heightmeyer.

“Would he talk to you, Teyla?” Elizabeth asked.

Teyla looked pained. “I am afraid that even with me, Ronon communicates in…other ways.”

“Stick fighting,” Rodney explained.

Teyla nodded. “And this…‘trans’…concept is foreign to me. I have not encountered it among my people, possibly as we are so few, and have been hard-pressed to survive.” She shrugged apologetically.

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I see. Well, I suppose I can try…” She didn’t look optimistic.

“Oh for goodness’ sake, it’ll have to be Sheppard of course,” said Rodney, the rat bastard. “Sheppard’s the only one he’d be likely to tell.”

“Hey, now wait one goddam minute,” John protested, glaring at Rodney. “You just said I was crap at talking about ‘touchy-feely’ stuff.” He realised he’d made air-quotes and winced.

“You’ll just have to give it the old college try,” Rodney said, glaring back. He turned to Elizabeth. “Are we done here? Because I, for one, have a semi-random alien database to try and search.”

“Will you at least go and see him, John?” Elizabeth asked.

John scowled, then reluctantly nodded. “But I want it on the record that I’m with McKay on this one. In the end it’s Ronon’s choice and all that matters is whether the damn thing’s safe.”

Elizabeth gave him a non-committal head-tilt. “Noted. Well, I think we _are_ done for now, everyone, until senior staff tomorrow morning. Thank you.”

Rodney smirked at John as he bustled off. John gave him the finger.

ooo–-ooo–ooo

In the end, it was Ronon who went to John’s room. He’d spent the day in the physical therapy gym working on his coordination and balance, visited off and on by the nurses. Marcie’d wanted him to try something she called spike heels but Marie said they’d had enough fun and Ronon certainly didn’t need the extra height, and did they want him to break an ankle? He was kind of curious now about the spike-heel things. They sounded badass.

Back in his room, Ronon paced, bored and restless. They’d fed him in the infirmary and he wasn’t up to braving the eating hall yet, in his new bra and form-fitting clothes. The marines were pigs, like soldiers anywhere. He thought of sparring with Teyla but he didn’t want to change back into his ratty, loose old sweats, and anyway, he figured she was going to trash him pretty bad until he got used to this body. Maybe not today.

So he paced, and lay on the bed drumming his fingers, and checked his blaster, and waited for Sheppard to come by. Finally, he took the transporter to Sheppard’s quarters, standing silent in front of the door for a minute just breathing, before covering the sensor with his hand.

The door hissed open and Sheppard turned, like an animal at bay. Seemed he’d been doing some pacing too. Sheppard stared at him, slack-jawed, then his eyes ran down Ronon’s body and Ronon felt hot wherever Sheppard looked. Hot, and tight, and something clenched and felt good, between his legs. He stepped into the room and the door whooshed shut.

“Holy crap,” Sheppard whispered, voice husky. “What?…you?” He waved a helpless hand at Ronon and let out a shuddering breath. “You can’t just…like that….” He was almost whining.

“Like what, Sheppard?” Ronon asked, giving him the eyebrow. He felt good. Powerful. He looked down at himself. “The nurses loaned me some stuff.” He stroked his hands down his breasts. “Even a bra.”

Sheppard made a noise and sat down heavily on the bed. Ronon figured he was trying to hide that he was hard, but Ronon could tell. “Oh man, buddy, you gotta stop fucking with me,” Sheppard muttered, scrubbing his hands across his face.

Ronon eased down beside him, and sat back, hands on the bed behind him. It made his chest stick out. “Why?”

That made Sheppard pissy. “ _Why?_ Have you _seen_ yourself?” He waved his hands, channeling McKay. “You can’t come in here looking like, like…and then…with the bra…and expect me to. I mean _not_ to…”

“You like it, huh? How I look?” Ronon asked, watching Sheppard carefully.

“Don’t do this to me, Ronon, you can’t ask me–”

“Don’t see why not,” Ronon said, trying to sound calm although his chest felt tight. Probably the bra. “Not against your rules now. Not now I’m a woman.”

“Aw, Jesus, Ronon, is _that_ why?”

Ronon looked away. “Might be.”

Sheppard grabbed his arm and turned him. “What? You turned yourself into a woman ’cause you wanted to fuck?” His voice had gone a little high.

“Wanted to fuck _you_ ,” Ronon said quietly. “Yeah.” He met Sheppard’s gaze. Sheppard looked kind of desperate, biting his lip. Ronon stared at it. He wanted to lick it.

“But, but,” Sheppard said, still holding his arm. “You never…”

“Did,” Ronon said. “You just never noticed, before.”

“Well, we’re _team_ ,” Sheppard said, sounding pissy again. “Still not allowed to fuck team-mates. _That_ hasn’t changed.”

“Stupid rule,” Ronon said, because it was. “People fucked who they wanted in our squads. Made them fight better.”

“Yeah, well, but I’m in command,” Sheppard argued. He let go of Ronon’s arm and blinked at his hand, like he’d forgotten he was holding Ronon. He put his hand on the bed. Ronon looked at the dark hairs, the black sweatband. He wondered if Sheppard took it off when he fucked. If he ever fucked.

“You’re not forcing me,” Ronon said quietly. Then he grinned. “Not that you could.”

Sheppard huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, point.”

“C’mon, Sheppard, don’t you wanna try it?” Ronon asked, sensing an advantage. “I do.” He tilted his head and looked at Sheppard through his lashes, grinning. He’d seen girls do that in the movies. Sheppard stared back, eyes dark, biting his lip again.

Ronon picked Sheppard’s hand up from the bed and put it on his breast. Sheppard’s mouth fell open and Ronon leaned in, slid a hand into Sheppard’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss, gentle, licking and sucking on Sheppard’s lower lip where he’d bitten it. Sheppard’s hand tightened on his breast and he groaned into Ronon’s mouth. His other hand came up to Ronon’s side, stroking up and down over the soft fleecy top, and Ronon crawled into his lap and pushed him back on the bed, crouched over him.

Sheppard reached up and pulled him down and Ronon felt how soft he was against Sheppard’s long limbs, his angular hips, and the hard, hot length of his cock pressed against Ronon’s belly. “Yeah,” Ronon breathed, and kissed him again, open-mouthed, with tongue.

Getting a leg around him in a wrestling move, Sheppard flipped them, nearly rolling them both off the bed. “C’mere,” he growled, and “Goddam Ancient beds, I swear…” and then he was holding Ronon down and kissing the hell out of him and Ronon couldn’t think any more, he was on fire, heat pooling between his legs as Sheppard got a hand up under the fleecy top and squeezed his breast hard, thumbing the nipple through the bra. Gods, Ronon suddenly wanted there to be no clothes, wanted Sheppard’s hands on him for real. He arched his throat and Sheppard was there, kissing and sucking up his neck, paying the tattoo extra attention, then up behind his ear. He pinched Ronon’s nipple, rolling it between finger and thumb, and Ronon moaned and wrapped his legs around Sheppard’s, bucking his hips up. He _wanted_.

“Fuck, fuck,” Sheppard gasped, voice harsh and throaty, “you’re so…Ronon you’re so…” and he sat back and grabbed at Ronon’s top, pulling at it. “Off,” said Sheppard, “take it–” He ripped his own black t-shirt off, writhing out of it as he pulled it up one-handed, the other still scrabbling vaguely at Ronon’s clothing. Ronon caught the hem and pulled the top up and off, lifting himself up from his hips to get it over his shoulders and head, feeling Sheppard’s hard cock press in against his belly. Sheppard grunted and caught him in the small of the back, rutting against him, panting harshly. Then he hauled Ronon up and gestured at the bra. “Off.” Ronon grinned and reached back like they’d showed him. He fumbled unhooking it, in too much of a hurry or maybe playing with Sheppard a little, and Sheppard watched him, breathing hard. He looked hungry. He looked fucking starving.

The fastening gave way and Ronon eased the bra off one arm then the other, enjoying the lack of constriction as his breasts fell free. He dropped the bra to the floor. Sheppard pushed him back and slid down him, getting his mouth on one of Ronon’s breasts, his hand on the other. Wetness, and a scrape of teeth. It felt really good, made Ronon moan and thrust up, grabbing Sheppard’s hips and grinding hard against him. Sheppard growled.

Then he was pulling Ronon’s pants off, small-pants and all, peeling them down until he reached Ronon’s boots. He cursed, then pulled the boots off as well, letting it all thud onto the floor, haphazard. He knelt over Ronon’s legs, knees splayed as wide as the bed allowed, and just looked. His eyes swept up Ronon’s legs, lingered on the pelt of dark hair between them, then up his belly and breasts, nipples hard and standing out, one of them pink and wet, right up to Ronon’s face. Ronon stared back and then bent his right knee up and let it fall out, opening himself. Sheppard swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Oh yeah.” He pulled off his watch and wristband and dropped them behind him, on the heap of Ronon’s clothes. Ronon grinned.

Sheppard slid down, and Ronon shunted up the bed and got his head on the pillow. Sheppard lay between his legs stroking his thighs, hands gentle as though Ronon was an animal needing calming. Then he leaned in and pushed Ronon’s legs apart, and did something with his tongue that had Ronon coming up off the bed with a cry.

“Liked that, huh?” Sheppard said, smug. He bent down again and gods, gods, Ronon _had_ to buck his hips, had to writhe, had to open his legs, pleading for more, for harder, please, please, _please_. Sheppard slid a finger into him and that was amazing, and Ronon wanted more fingers, but Sheppard’s tongue had him pinned helpless and writhing, heat building, legs quivering until it crested and he came, shuddering with a strange, inward, clenching pleasure that crashed through him, wave after wave.

Sheppard was still licking him, but it was too much. Ronon pushed him back, wanting Sheppard’s cock, not his tongue or fingers. “Yeah,” Sheppard panted, ripping his pants open and sliding off the bed to tear them off, boxers, socks, boots and all. Good thing he hadn’t tied the damn things, Ronon thought hazily. Then Sheppard was over him, pushing his legs apart.

“Wait. You got a sheath thing?” Ronon asked. Sheppard froze, staring at him in a daze of lust.

“Christ, yeah,” he gasped, lunging at the bedside drawer and almost pulling it right out in his haste. He scrabbled around, then sat back, triumphant. “Aha!” Ripping the package open he got the thing on his cock, cursing softly, then he slid back over onto Ronon again. He took Ronon’s face in his hands and kissed him, wet and hot, lots of tongue. “Wanna fuck you,” he rasped.

“Yeah, do it,” Ronon said. “Fuck me, c’mon.”

Sheppard levered himself up, spread Ronon’s legs again and guided himself in. It hurt for a moment, bright and sharp, and Ronon gritted his teeth. Then that eased, and Sheppard was in him, deep, hips jerking a little as he closed his eyes and groaned. “Baby, baby,” he moaned, and Ronon could tell he was barely holding on.

“ ’s okay, you can move, c’mon, do me,” Ronon said, and he wrapped his legs around Sheppard’s ass and rocked up.

Sheppard grunted and began fucking him, trying to hold back at first, but soon his hips were thrusting uncontrollably, face flushed, blown beyond words into incoherent moans. He buried his face in Ronon’s neck and just went for it, pounding hard until he stiffened, rhythm lost, hips stuttering helplessly as he came.

After, he was a dead weight, and Ronon worried for a second that he really had keeled over in extremis, but no. Just before Ronon had decided to heave him off bodily Sheppard groaned and pushed himself up, one hand on the sheath as he pulled out. It hurt more this time, and Ronon winced. Sheppard stopped, staring down at his cock. Ronon wondered if he’d broken it, raising his head to peer as well. There was blood on the sheath.

Sheppard looked up, eyes suddenly sober. “Holy crap, Ronon, you’re…You were a…”

“Guess so,” Ronon said. “Huh. You’re my first. In this body.”

Sheppard’s face clouded, and he got up and went to the washroom. He came back with a wet cloth and knelt between Ronon’s legs, cleaning him carefully. “There’s not much blood,” he said. “Christ, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, and I was goin’ at you like some animal.”

“Yeah,” Ronon said. “Wanted you to. Didn’t hurt a lot – I was pretty relaxed, after…” He waved a hand. He felt good, now. If he could get Sheppard to calm down, maybe Sheppard would touch him down there some more. He thought he might like that.

“C’mon,” Ronon said. He made Sheppard lie down again and rolled half on top of him, kissing him lazily. “I liked it.” He pulled Sheppard’s hand down and pressed it to the mound between his legs. “Touch me. Then maybe I’ll give you a blow job, if you’re not too old to get it up again.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Hoo, baby, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ronon frowned. “Why d’you call me that?”

“What?” Sheppard looked confused for a second. “Baby? Its…we just use it…when we like....”

“A sweet-name?” Sheppard nodded. Ronon poked him in the chest. “I like buddy better. Call me that.”

Sheppard grinned. “Sure can.” He slid his hand down between Ronon’s legs and began fingering him. Interesting things started happening. “That good, buddy?” Sheppard whispered. He did something clever with his thumb. “You like that, buddy?”

Ronon groaned and spread his legs.

ooo–-ooo–ooo

John fobbed them off in senior staff the next morning, putting on his best poker face and managing not to flush. “He’s talked with me a little, but I’m gonna need more time.” Elizabeth shot him a look but didn’t call him on it.

Rodney was distracted by the data John and Miko had pulled from the interface. John hadn’t had to touch it and although it had categorized Miko as a “skilled assistant” which seemed probably safe, she hadn’t risked it either. “My father would prefer me to have been born a boy,” she’d told John with a small, wry smile. “I certainly do not want him vindicated.” John had grinned – seemed he wasn’t the only one around with some daddy issues. They managed to access a few more systems, working together – John had an instinctive feel for the interface but Miko understood what they were seeing better, and knew where to direct him.

“The upshot is that so far, fascinating although the technology is, there’s no mention of reversing the process,” Rodney’s spiel concluded.

Elizabeth looked at John and Miko. She bowed her head briefly in agreement. “What he said,” John confirmed.

“You’ll keep trying?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yeah, it’s low-risk as long as we don’t work hands-on. Might as well,” John said.

They turned to the database search, with Rodney ranting that that the head linguist “rivaled that idiot Jackson” for stubbornness. Elizabeth said that was high praise indeed. No progress on that front either.

John found himself oddly torn. He wanted Ronon back to normal, of course he did. But. John also wanted to fuck him again, to play with those amazing tits, to make Ronon moan and make his face go soft and glazed with want. He shifted in his chair. Damn – he had to stop thinking about what they’d done last night; he was getting obsessed. And unprofessional. He had marines to train, then another session with Miko later on. He had to pull himself together.

Ronon joined the team for dinner that evening. He’d scored a couple of uniforms that fitted reasonably well, although those breasts under a tight black t-shirt were damned distracting. At least Ronon’s new body was partly concealed by his jacket, and the pants weren’t skin-tight, but he still got a few wolf-whistles from a table of marine jerk-offs near the door. John was on his feet, glowering, before he realized what he was doing. Rodney grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

“Ronon will be fine, John,” Teyla reassured him.

She was right. Ronon sauntered over to the cat-calling table and like magic a six-inch knife appeared in his hand. He didn’t threated them directly, just stood there holding it easily. “You want something?” he said pleasantly. The main offender blanched, leaning away, shaking his head frantically. “Thought not,” Ronon said, the knife vanishing up his sleeve.

John marked the four dickheads down for mandatory sensitivity training. He had another thought. “Those four could do with some sparring practice,” he suggested, slouching back in his seat, one eye still on Ronon as he filled a plate.

“Indeed,” Teyla said. “I will take care of it personally.” They grinned at each other.

“You two are scary,” Rodney said through a mouthful of pie. “I like it.”

John went to Ronon’s room that night. He made Ronon come three times with his hands and mouth, worried about hurting him again even though Ronon rolled his eyes and insisted it’d be fine. Ronon gave him a long, slow blow-job, teasing him mercilessly.

“Christ,” John gasped, riding the edge of desperation. “This payback ’cause I wouldn’t fuck you?”

Ronon lifted his mouth off for a moment and John’s hips strained up involuntarily. “Nah,” Ronon said. “Just like doing it. Always have.” He bent to his task again, sucked hard and used his tongue, sliding a spit-slicked finger into John’s ass. John came with a shout.

They were half-dozing afterward, John’ head on Ronon’s shoulder, when Ronon said. “Wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

“What?” John said.

“Finger in your ass. Some guys don’t.”

“Some straight guys, yeah,” John murmured sleepily.

“That’s guys who only go with women?”

“Uh huh.” John woke up a little more. “What, you thought I was straight?”

“Traditional, we call it. Yeah.” Ronon shrugged, moving John with him. “Never seen you with a guy. Only chicks.”

“I’m not straight,” John said. “You know what I said – I can’t go with guys openly.”

“You do it anyway?”

John pushed up on one elbow to frown down at Ronon. Ronon had this look like it didn’t matter to him either way; John figured that was bullshit. “What – in secret?” He shook his head. “Nope. Marines’re under my command, so that’s out. Even the scientists – well, it’s messy when you’re on senior staff. Simpler to go without.” He flopped back on the pillow, Ronon’s arm under his neck. “Used to, back in college, before I got married.”

“You were married?”

“Yeah. Didn’t last. I was away too much, on secret ops I couldn’t talk about. It fell apart.” He looked over at Ronon. The dreads were the same, but Ronon’s profile was more delicate, the throat sweetly curved; no Adam’s apple. “Also, I wasn’t straight, and she was. It was never gonna work. I’m bi, Ronon.”

Ronon turned and looked at him. “Bi?”

“Means I go with women _and_ guys. I like both.”

“We don’t have a name for that,” Ronon said. “Just traditional, and everything else.”

“Okay, well, I guess I’m not ‘traditional’ then,” John said.

Ronon smirked at him. “Me neither.”

ooo–ooo–ooo

Three weeks passed, and still no progress with the database. Rodney could only work on it intermittently, between a major overhaul of the long-range sensor array and staving off this week’s disaster. “Yet another attempt by my moronic so-called scientists to blow us all to smithereens or send us to the bottom of the ocean,” he shouted, striding into senior staff smudged with grease, having been up half the night. “Where the SGC gets these clowns from I have no goddamn idea.” After that, no one remembered to ask John if Ronon had talked about why he’d touched the thing. He sometimes caught Heightmeyer eyeing Ronon speculatively in the mess, but she didn’t raise the issue again.

Some things were much the same. Ronon and John resumed running every morning. Annoyingly, Ronon was just as fast now he was a woman, which was just as well really as it meant when he ran on ahead John didn’t get to stare at the way his tits bounced and face-plant on the catwalk. Ronon’d been sparring with Teyla as well, settling into his new body. Teyla told John privately that Ronon was worried he wasn’t as strong as he’d been as a man, but in her view that was balanced by his greater speed and agility. “He has found his center again,” she said, pronouncing Ronon recovered. The team went back on the active mission roster.

Other things were very different. The sex, for one. They didn’t fuck every day – some days were too grueling, or they were both too banged up from a mission – but still, it was 100% more sex than John had had in years, and he went kind of crazy for a while, worshiping Ronon’s breasts and pussy, making Ronon come over and over, fucking him into the mattress now Ronon wasn’t sore any more. He felt drunk with it, gone on Ronon, missing him when they were parted, like some kid with his first crush. It was dumb, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Ronon seemed to like it, and developed his own obsession with John’s cock and his ass. Marathon blow-jobs with Ronon’s fingers deep inside him had John whiting out from pleasure, and Ronon loved spooning up behind him and jerking him off. One time, Ronon whispered “wish I could fuck you,” just before John came. He loved rimming John, too, making John shake and sob, thighs quivering as Ronon’s tongue licked him open and slid inside.

“ ’m sorry,” John gasped afterwards, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together, limbs still limp and twitching.

Ronon looked across at him. “ ’bout what?”

“Your cock,” John said. “That you can’t fuck me. That they haven’t found the thing yet, in the database.”

“Yeah,” Ronon said. “You like it? Being fucked?”

“Hell, yeah,” John said fervently. “Used to jerk off, thinking about it. About you fucking me.”

There was a silence. John glanced over. “Ronon? You okay?”

Ronon blew out a breath. “Yeah. Trying not to punch you in the head.”

“Riiight,” John said. “Okay. I’ll just…”

“Yeah,” Ronon said. He rolled away, turning his back to John.

John felt like shit. He’d battled with the pronouns for a while, then he’d given up and just thought of Ronon as him, mostly. Ronon didn’t seem to be thinking of himself as a woman, except in a practical sense. John guessed he really was trans now, but not like Rodney’d suggested. He was a man in a woman’s body. And Ronon’d touched that thing because John was too closeted to let on that he’d wanted him. John figured they deserved each other.

On M8Q-575 they had to camp out in the grasslands by an outpost Rodney was exploring. Rodney insisted on bunking in with John as usual, even when John glowered at him, trying to force Rodney to catch a clue with some eyebrow semaphore. Turned out Rodney knew exactly what was what. “Look, Colonel, I’m not lying alongside Teyla in a tent all night with a hard-on from listening to you and Rononella here get it on in the next tent, so get over it and quit pouting.” John buried his face in his hands.

Ronon got invited to ladies’ poker night. He turned up at John’s door after midnight, drunk as a skunk and smelling like a perfume counter with fake stick-on fingernails painted blood red. John had to bundle him into bed while he made claw-hands and growled, in between fits of giggling.

“What, you’re a monster now?” said John, making him drink a glass of water and take some Tylenol.

“Got bad-ass hands. Like…like tha’ dude wolfy, wolvy, y’know…” Ronon said blurrily, his nose in John’s neck.

“Wol—you mean Wolverine?” But Ronon was already snoring. “Goddam nurses think you’re their Barbie-doll,” muttered John, thinking the lights off.

On P3Y-672 Teyla and Ronon were fêted and fussed over by the matriarchal council while John got billeted in a strongly goat-scented hut with Rodney griping in his ear half the night about the lumpy straw mattress and imaginary fleas. The next day Ronon had a gleam in his eye and a pack full of gifts from the elders – jewelry and ribbons and one wax-sealed box he wouldn’t let John see. Rodney was appeased when Teyla gave him her parcel of sweetmeats, munching candied nira berries happily all the way back to the gate. That night, in his quarters, Ronon made John shut his eyes and opened the box. When John was finally allowed to look Ronon was naked, grinning, and sporting a strap-on. John had some trouble sitting comfortably in senior staff the next day but it was totally worth it.

The next day, Rodney and the linguists found the artifact in the database. The technical specs advised waiting at least 16 days before re-use on the same lifeform. It had been 23 days since Ronon touched it.

ooo–ooo–ooo

Ronon didn’t let John talk when he showed up that evening, just pulled John down on the bed, sucked him until he was gasping and made it clear he wanted to be fucked. John made him take it easy, giving Ronon’s breasts their due with lips, teeth and hands, a last farewell. He knew what Ronon had decided.

They fucked missionary style, slow and sweet, with lots of kissing. John tried to hold on and let Ronon have a couple of orgasms, but after he’d come once, Ronon sneaked a lubed-up finger into John’s ass, knowing that always turned him into a shuddering heap.

They lay facing each other after, legs loosely tangled, John’s hand on one of Ronon’s breasts and Ronon’s hand stroking his hip.

“You know Elizabeth’s worried about letting you touch it unless you explain what happened to her or Heightmeyer,” John said.

“Why not?” Ronon sounded a little pissed. “ ’s my body.”

“Yeah, but they don’t understand why you did it in the first place.” John shrugged. “They need to be sure you really wanna be a man again.”

“I’m not really a woman, Sheppard,” Ronon said. “Not inside.”

“Yeah, see, _I_ know that,” John said. “But they don’t. They just see,” he bent his head and kissed Ronon’s breasts, one by one, “these.”

“You’re gonna miss ’em, huh?” Ronon grinned.

“Bet your ass,” John said. He reached down and cupped Ronon’s mound. “But I figure you’re missing your cock even more.”

“Yeah,” Ronon said. “Yeah, I am.” He pulled John in and kissed him, langorous but with an edge of promise. Easing back, he tipped his forehead against John’s. “I wanna be me again.”

“You’ll talk to Heightmeyer?”

“She can’t tell anyone else, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

ooo–ooo–ooo

They did the procedure in the infirmary this time, with Ronon lying down in case he passed out again, ready to be hooked up to various monitors. He did lose consciousness for a few minutes, but Carson said he seemed otherwise fine. They hadn’t seen the change, as a strange, shimmering field had surrounded him, turning him into a long, mirror-surfaced shape for a few seconds before winking out, leaving Ronon’s form, now decidedly male, sacked out on the bed.

“Christ, that’s unnerving,” said Rodney. “Are we sure he hasn’t turned into a pod-person?” John clipped him over the ear and Rodney danced away, cursing. Teyla frowned at them both and sat down, taking Ronon’s hand.

John studied Ronon anxiously, but he was breathing, and looked his usual self. He even had the beard again, which was weird. His face was all planes and angles, his neck muscles corded, the tendons defined.

John helped Carson roll the thing back into a strong-box without touching it. “I want that padlocked and in secure storage,” Elizabeth said. “It worked then, Carson?”

“Aye, it seems so, but I’ll run more scans once he’s awake.” Carson shook his head. “The damn thing’s restored his body mass to what it was before. Fascinating.”

“Huh?” Rodney swiveled, staring intently at Ronon. “It’s not a molecule-by-molecule change, then. More like his old form was stored in the artifact, then transported back. Maybe some sort of quantum state beaming?”

“I have no bloody idea,” Carson said, shooing them out. “Now, away wi’ ye all, and let the lad rest.”

Ronon only took a few days to get over it this time, sleeping off and on for several hours on the first day and complaining of sore muscles, but otherwise his usual gruff self. John left him alone while he recovered. On the third day, Ronon turned up at his door, early, to take him running. His balance seemed fine and as usual he outstripped John, doubling back to tease him.

“Show-off,” John panted, stopping to lean on the railing and catch his breath.

“Easier changing back,” Ronon said, not winded at all.

“Yeah, buddy, I heard. Teyla said you’re back to normal with the bantos, too.”

Ronon smirked. “Took her down twice.”

“Yeah, you’re a pistol, all right,” John said, hoping the testosterone wasn’t going to Ronon’s head.

“Won’t hurt you,” Ronon said, glancing sidelong.

“Never thought you would, buddy.”

“Well, only when we’re sparring.”

“Good to know,” said John. “Bastard.”

ooo–ooo–ooo

Ronon figured it was time, and he hoped he’d read John right, so he wasn’t surprised when John turned up at his room that night.

Sheppard stepped inside and the door slid shut. They looked at each other, or rather, John ran his eyes over Ronon, who stood there, letting him look.

“You still wanna?” Ronon said, when the looking had gone on long enough. He figured Sheppard was working up to saying something, and that could take hours. Ronon was impatient.

“Oh yeah,” said Sheppard. “Can we…will you…?”

“Want me to fuck you?” Ronon moved right into Sheppard’s space, got his hands on Sheppard’s ass and squeezed.

Sheppard gasped and pushed their cocks together. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse.

“Been thinking about it,” Ronon whispered, taking Sheppard’s mouth, giving him some tongue.

Sheppard melted against him, his arms around Ronon’s neck. He pulled his mouth away and sucked in a breath. “Me, too.”

Ronon manhandled Sheppard down onto the bed and stripped them both, hampered a little as Sheppard was no help at all, mainly focused on kissing him all over. Sheppard paid a lot of attention to Ronon’s chest, licking and sucking on his nipples like he had when Ronon’d had breasts. “Still like those, huh?”

Sheppard didn’t reply, just used his teeth and tongue to drive Ronon crazy. Ronon rolled them so Sheppard was beneath him and opened him up nice and slow, with plenty of lube. Sheppard tried to thrust up to get Ronon’s fingers in deeper. He was making desperate, incoherent noises, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck,” growled Ronon, “fuck, yeah, I gotta…” But Sheppard couldn’t wait, pulling his legs up and back, offering himself. No sheath, but they were both clean, so Ronon pushed in, all the way in and it was so much better than the fake dick those elders had given him, Sheppard gasping and writhing, whining way back in his throat, his ass hot and slick around Ronon’s cock.

Ronon put his head down and fucked Sheppard hard, and he couldn’t last, not with Sheppard like this, laid bare and gone, totally gone on Ronon’s cock. He felt it building at the base of his spine, unstoppable, and he got a hand on Sheppard’s dick, flushed dark and slippery between them. Sheppard cried out and convulsed, shooting up into his chest hair, jerking under him as Ronon followed, hips stuttering, blind and helpless as he gave Sheppard everything.

They slept, or maybe passed out, then Sheppard got up and brought back a washcloth, cleaning them both before flopping down on the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said to the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Ronon said appreciatively, staring up as well.

“Guess _I_   missed your cock too,” Sheppard said. Ronon shot him a look. He was grinning.

“We’re doing this, then?” Ronon asked.

“Hell, yeah,” said Sheppard. “Sorry I was stupid. Before.” He glanced across. “Don’t pull a stunt like that again, okay?”

“Try not to,” Ronon said, feeling something tight in him relax. He smiled.

“ _Do, or do not. There is no try_ ,” Sheppard intoned, elbowing him.

“Quit that,” Ronon caught his arm, then slid his hand down to thread his fingers with Sheppard’s. They lay there for a while, hands clasped. “Star Wars. Good movies,” Ronon said.

“Yeah,” Sheppard agreed. He sounded happy.

“Sure you don’t just want me for my body?” Ronon asked after a while, because it had niggled at him, that thought, even though he knew Sheppard was crap at talking about how he felt.

“Don’t be a dick,” said Sheppard.

Ronon grinned and hauled him in for a kiss.

 

ooo–ooo–ooo

the end


End file.
